


In the Hall of the Mountain King

by 94BottlesOfSnapple



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [2]
Category: Spider-Gwen (Comics)
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Attempted Murder, Deadly Hide and Seek, Earth-65, Gen, Matt Murderdock - Freeform, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:02:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29182974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/94BottlesOfSnapple/pseuds/94BottlesOfSnapple
Summary: A hitman named Ray comes calling on Matt Murdock.Unfortunately for him, he hasn't heard Gwen Stacy's moniker for the new kingpin.
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2148057
Comments: 16
Kudos: 42
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	In the Hall of the Mountain King

**Author's Note:**

> For the Bad Things Happen Bingo square "Taunting" and the Febuwhump Day 2 prompt "I can't take this anymore"

It’s supposed to be an easy job. An easy fucking job. Just getting rid of Fisk’s backstabbing scuzzball lawyer. The bastard’s tall, but thin as a rail — hell, he’s blind to boot. Almost too easy.

Decent security system. Couple of bodyguards. Double-tap to the chest, all professional-like. In and out.

But it doesn’t happen like that. Murdock’s a demon. A devil. Whatever the hell he is, it’s not human.

When Ray steps into the room, he doesn’t even turn his head, just stands at the floor-to-ceiling window in his office like he can actually see out it to the city below.

And yeah, he turns when Ray lifts the gun, but he does it slow — not panicked, not like he even notices anybody’s broken in. Just... Like he’s decided to move away from the window, on a whim.

And then something flashes across the room, a single gleam in the moonlight before it impacts. Ray’s gun goes skittering across the floor, the sound of it loud in the cavernous office, but it cuts out for half a second when the pain hits — first cold, then hot. Ray claps a hand over his forearm, and blood oozes between his fingers past the hilt of a knife. Across the room, Murdock tilts his head. Light flashes over the lenses of his shades, and a smile pulls across his face.

“You had no idea what you were getting into, did you?” he asks Ray, sounding delighted. “You’ve got the very dubious honor of being my hundredth attempted assassin, and whoever hired you didn’t even bother to mention it. My, my. Someone’s _very_ expendable.”

Which is ominous. But Ray’s not green, and he’s been on the ropes before. He would’ve stepped forward into the fight instead of back away from it. He would’ve.

But then two, five, _twelve_ guys in _ninja gear_ of all things start melting out of the shadows, forming up around Murdock who just— stands there, twirling another knife between his fingers. His grin splits wider.

“You know, if you run, you might make it out of here alive.”

Nobody paid Ray for ninjas, let alone a dozen of them.

He runs.

Another knife hits his side on the way out the door, and the one in his arm shakes loose as he bolts down the hallways, slamming into corners as he twists through the maze of the building. He doesn’t slow down, every moment expecting to hear a herd of thundering footsteps.

What he hears instead, over his racing heart, is a single pair.

And the over-loud click of a plastic cane.

He runs until the noise vanishes behind him, until he’s heaving breaths, and then shoulders into the first unlocked door. The light clicks on under his shaking fingers, bathing the cleaning supplies around him in sickly yellow light. Ray grits his teeth — against the pain, the situation, everything — and jams a broom handle under the door. He’s hiding like a goddamn rat in a supply closet that smells like too much bleach, with his arm gushing blood and no idea how he got here.

It was supposed to be an easy job.

He knows he’s left bloody handprints like a trail of crumbs behind him, but Murdock’s blind. He can’t see them. He can’t.

The slam of a door only a couple rooms away makes his heart jolt in his chest. It feels pathetic, a kid hiding in the closet, peering through the crack in the door with his hands over his mouth. Shivering with fear. Black eyes and broken arms.

He was never supposed to be that kid again.

But he can still hear Murdock’s voice ringing in his ears, a low sing-song that sends ice sliding down his spine. And every time he closes his eyes he can see the white gleam of a Cheshire smile, manic and too wide for Murdock’s thin face.

He can’t take this anymore. No, if he gets outta here, he’s going clean. No more of this hitman bullshit, it ain’t worth it. It’s always been a dangerous job, sure, but now? It’s totally beyond the pale, here. Ninjas? Seriously? If that’s what the world is coming to, he’s happy to leave it to nutjobs like Bullseye.

Footsteps pass the door, and Ray stays as still as he can. Bundles up his outer shirt against his wound so it won’t drip against the floor, keeps his inhales and exhales slow and silent and even. Eventually, the steps fade.

Ray gives it another minute, two. And then he takes a step towards the door.

There’s a long, slow scratch against the wood that stops him in his tracks. Then a light little knock-knock-knock.

“Want to know a secret?” Murdock breathes right up against the door, and Ray knows it’s nuts but it’s like he can feel the words sink into the closet, a chilling fog of dry ice. “I can hear you breathing in there.”

Ray steps back. A bucket rattles under his foot, and Murdock laughs.

There has to be a way out. There has to. A fucking— ventilation shaft. Ray would take anything, but there’s nothing. Nothing except the door.

The doorknob rattles, but the broom holds firm, keeps the door shut. It rattles harder. Ray pulls the knife out of his side to use as a weapon — his dominant arm is useless, but he’s fought without it before.

“Best fight for your life,” Murdock taunts, “if it means anything to you. So far I’m not convinced it does.”

The door crashes open with an almighty bang that sends the broom flying. It cracks in two as it hits the far wall. Before Murdock can even take a step, Ray lunges out at him. His entire left side is on fire, and blood seeps down his side from the wound there, but it doesn’t matter. Because Murdock steps back, out of the doorway, to dodge the knife. The path is clear now.

He keeps running. Murdock’s horrible laughter chases him down the hall. Every step is agony, drains more blood out of his veins.

But after two more turns, there it is. The one thing that might save him.

The elevator.

Like a miracle, the doors open immediately when he hits the down arrow. Murdock turns the corner, unsheathing a fucking sword from his cane. He’s thirty steps away, twenty-five—

Ray slams his fist against the close door button so hard that its casing cracks, and the doors slide shut with him and only him inside. Then he jams his thumb into the ground floor button, and the elevator begins its smooth glide downwards. There’s nothing to do but tap his foot and wait, watching the floor numbers tick down, down, down. The journey’s uninterrupted — no one tries to call for it on one of the middle floors. He has the knife in hand still, ready, as the elevator finally slides open. Since nobody tried to stop it early and box him in, they’re probably waiting here to take him out.

But there’s no one. Nothing. The lobby of the building is empty — just gleaming white tile and some fake plants.

It’s barely fifteen feet. He’s fifteen feet from the front door and there isn’t a ninja in sight. There’s a trap here, Ray knows it, but if he can just make it out those doors it won’t matter. If he makes it outside, he’s home free.

Six feet.

Three feet.

His fingers close on the door handle.

He’s going to—

_Squelch_.

**_Crack_**.

An hour later, the lobby is spotless, and Matthew Murdock crouches at the edge of the koi pond on the seventeenth floor, feeding his fish. He cocks his head but doesn’t turn to address the figure that approaches him from behind.

“I sense a lecture incoming.”

Otomo doesn’t rise to the bait. He never does.

“It was irresponsible to let him get so far, Master Murdock. Especially just to sate your own boredom. Regardless of his skill level.”

“Otomo,” Matt says idly, sprinkling more food into the water and the ravenous mouths pushing out of it. “Tell me something. Am I or am I not your superior?”

“You are,” Otomo concedes. “But you are first and foremost a servant of the Hand. As am I. And it is my responsibility to protect our superiors’ investment in you.”

A cold smile tugs across Matt’s lips.

“Investment,” he repeats. “Hmm. Well, I’ll keep your perspective in mind.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Otomo’s retreating steps are not silent, but they are quiet. Eventually they fade beneath the splashing of the hungry koi, and Matt is left alone with his thoughts again.

**Author's Note:**

> Now with a [comic](https://carrionbeast.tumblr.com/post/644671901801857024/okay-so-pomegranate-belle-wrote-an-absolutely), thanks to the amazing carrionbeast on tumblr!


End file.
